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Tales of Ranos/God's Lament
The Messenger The stone door slid shut, extinguishing the light that had momentarily illuminated the narrow passage into the mountain. After a few seconds of silence and darkness, a torch flared into existence, held aloft by the gloved hands of a cloaked and hooded figure. The torch bobbed forward as its holder journeyed onwards into the darkness. Any normal person might have been more cautious by the pitch blackness and possibly uneven footing of the cavern, but this was a journey that had been made many times before. The figure moved at a brisk pace, keeping the light source held aloft as he neared the end of the passage. A single metal sconce sat by a large door, ornately carved with the runes of a language long dead. The door possessed no handle or keyhole, and were it not for the shape it may well have been just another wall. Fitting the torch neatly in its sconce, the figure drew back his hood and knelt before the door. "I come without malice or anger," he whispered. "Seeking wisdom, not war." As he finished speaking, the runes on the door glowed a brilliant blue and it slowly parted, fitting seamlessly into the nearby walls and opening up the path into a larger, well-lit chamber. The cloaked traveller drew back his hood and stood up before walking through the threshold. The runed door slammed shut behind him immediately, but he was not afraid. This chamber was lit not with the fire of torches, but by the soft glow of dozens of shining crystals. To one side sat a huge oaken table, lined with chairs. He slowly removed his cloak and placed it on one of the stools, along with his gloves and pack. Standing decloaked in the light, the creature that now approached the central chamber was not of Ranos' mainland. His entire body was covered in scales, with clawed fingers and toes; his face appeared vaguely Human, though he possessed the orange eyes and vertical pupils of a reptile. As he began his journey down the staircase towards the main chamber, a deep voice rumbled through the cavern. "Is that you, Arizan?" He stopped in his tracks and sighed. No matter how silently he crept into this inner sanctum, his master could always detect his presence. Nonetheless, he had played this little game for close to fifty years now in the hope of 'winning'. Arizan descended into the chamber, where an immense figure sat by an even larger globe, suspended several feet off the floor with faint wisps of magic. "Hello, Master." He bowed his head as the giant before him slowly turned round. "How goes your work?" "Work is work," came the booming reply. Arizan looked up at the sphere his master had been carving. It was a fairly recent project in the grand scheme of things, having only been started fifteen years beforehand when a particularly huge chunk of granite was brought in. Since then years had been spent intricately carving and shaping each part to perfection. "It looks nearly complete, my lord." The figure stood up, grunting slightly as he pulled himself to his full height. Standing at well over teen feet tall and towering over the fairly large Arizan, he looked more akin to the Humans of the mainland than he did of the Drakin of Skoros. His master was shirtless, dust from the carving drifting off his massive body as he stood back to examine his latest creation. Light from the crystals above gleamed off his bald head and illuminated the solemn yet proud face of Georim the Builder. "Not yet," he muttered, looking down for a moment at his servant. "No, there is still more to do. I will return to this later." Georim turned and strode away into the gargantuan area that served as his living quarters. Arizan walked after him at some pace, wary of his master's heavy footfalls. He pulled up an ornate chair by the table and sat down wearily at his desk. Scrolls and leatherbound books littered the area, replete with both ancient knowledge and plans for future endeavours. Like all his predecessors, Arizan had been forbidden from going through his master's study. Those who defied Georim's simple order had met horrible fates, if the rumours were to be believed. "Master," Arizan began, standing beside the gargantuan figure. "You seem agitated of late. What troubles you?" Georim frowned. "War." "War, master? None could threaten our shores. You know that." "Not here, child." Georim shifted huge stacks of work onto the floor, and eventually drew out a large tome, bound with black dragonhide. Such bindings would incur the death penalty outside of these chambers on Jamos, though judging by the scripture the book itself was at least a thousand years old. He flicked through several pages, eyes scanning the contents until he found what he was looking for. Then, he sighed. "It is as I feared. My siblings stir once more in the north." "Siblings?" Arizan repeated, half in shock.